


1:40 A.M.

by DecemberCamie



Series: Kalokagathia [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gamzee Makara and Karkat Vantas Moirallegiance, Humanstuck, POV Karkat Vantas, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecemberCamie/pseuds/DecemberCamie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get the phone call the exact moment your digital clock changes from 1:32 to 1:33. You almost don’t pick up. However, you have the unfortunate luck of seeing the name of the caller on your cell’s screen before you get the chance to turn the damn thing off.</p><p>When your tired brain finally recognizes the name, you’re tempted to throw your phone across the room and collapse into bed. But, you’re not the heartless bastard you like to pretend you are, and you already promised not to abandon this moron, regardless of the circumstances.</p><p>So you hold back a groan, press the green button, and say into the phone, “Yeah?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1:40 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I just wanted to warn readers that there are mentions of abuse in this fic. It's nothing graphic, and I'm not even sure if I described it correctly, but I thought you guys might want to know. That saying, this is a Gamzee-Karkat moirallegiance story; meaning there's more fluff and hurt/comfort than actual bad stuff.
> 
> This is set in the same universe as my other story, Blackout. You don't have to read it for this fic though.
> 
> I do not own Homestuck. This work was unedited, so sorry if there's any mistakes. Thanks for reading!

It’s 1:14 in the morning when your eyes start to sting in that all too familiar way. You ignore it and continue pounding away at your keyboard.

By 1:20 your fingers are having trouble keeping up with the words in your brain and you’ve had to retype the same stupid word for the fourth time in a row.

At 1:26 you slam your laptop shut, grumbling angrily and yawning hard enough for your eyes to tear up. You almost kill yourself on the way to the bathroom, tripping over a cat beanie baby Nepeta had left the last time she visited.

You get the phone call the exact moment your digital clock changes from 1:32 to 1:33. You almost don’t pick up. However, you have the unfortunate luck of seeing the name of the caller on your cell’s screen before you get the chance to turn the damn thing off.

When your tired brain finally recognizes the name, you’re tempted to throw your phone across the room and collapse into bed. Had the call been any later and you would have already been under the covers, fast asleep. But, you’re not the heartless bastard you like to pretend you are, and you already promised not to abandon this moron, regardless of the circumstances.

So you hold back a groan, press the green button, and say into the phone, “Yeah?”

Nothing. You can hear his raspy breathing on the other end, but he doesn’t answer you.

You let out a long breath and pinch the bridge of your nose. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Listen,” you say as he stays silent. “I am one step away from my bed. I am tired and cranky and not in the mood to play games with you right now, okay? You have five seconds to tell me why you called before I hang up for good-”

“Can you come pick me up?” he mumbles and your heart drops to the floor at the tone of his voice.

“Gamzee,” you say quietly, trying to swallow your panic. “Gamzee, are you okay? Why are you talking like that?”

He goes silent again and your knuckles go white as you clutch your phone.

You’re about to say something say something, anything to get him to speak again so you’ll know he’s still here, when he repeats brokenly, “Can you come and pick me up?”

You nod before you remember he can’t see you. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” you say, already walking towards the hallway, tiredness and bed forgotten. “Where are you?” You grab your keys from the hook in the kitchen and lock the apartment door behind you.

“At the park,” he says after a short pause and you’re already outside in the parking lot.

You feel a rush of relief; you know where he is. “Go it.” You shift your grasp on the phone so you can open the car door. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He laughs, but it has a slight hysterical edge to it, making the hairs on your arms rise.

“Sure thing brother,” he says and the phone goes dead before you can reply.

The digital clock on your cell tells you it is 1:40 in the morning when you pull your car out of the parking lot, tires squealing as you take off into the darkness.

-o0o-

He’s still at the park by the time you get there. You take the time to send a silent prayer of thanks to whatever omnipotent being is watching over you.

You make your way over to the swing set, woodchips crunching under your sneakers, but he doesn’t look up. He’s on the middle swing, just sitting there and staring at his hands in his lap as if in a trance. You squint in the low light as you near. His expression is weirdly blank and you swallow involuntarily. 

You stop in front of him, hand shoved in your jacket pockets. “Hey.”

He jumps a little and blinks up at you. “Karkat,” he breathes out and happiness floods into his face. The knot in your stomach looseness a bit at the sight.

“You came,” he says and your face warms at the tone of his voice- like you’re a god or something answering his every wish. 

“I told you I would.” You frown at him. His pupils are huge, you notice. You can see the orange streetlight reflected in them. Your gaze travels down to the small cut on his left cheek.

You reach out and turn his head to the side so you can see it better. He lets you, not saying a word of protest. The cut doesn’t look all that bad up close, thank god, but the thin stream of blood running down his face could convince someone differently.

“Jesus, Gamzee.” You let go of him and fold your arms over your chest with a scowl. “What the hell happened to you? Why are you out here in the middle of the goddamn night?”

He drops his eyes back down to his hands. You want to scream and shake him until he talks to you, but you know from experience that would accomplishes nothing. Instead you bite the inside of your cheek and squat down in front of him so your face is level with his knees.

His hands are tight fists, nails digging into his palms in a way you knew had to be painful. Your heart aches and you place your smaller, warmer hands over his bony ones, waiting until you feel his grip relax. Gently, you uncurl his fingers and examine the damage.

You inhale sharply. Gamzee’s hands are covered with angry red gashes, most of them bleeding heavier than the one on his cheek, staining his skin and nail a shiny dark red. You try not to grimace at the rusty smell but you really hate blood and you especially hate seeing it on your friend like this.

You glance up at him and he’s already staring at you, expression guilty in a way that makes you grit your teeth so hard they actually hurt.

“Did you do this to yourself?” you ask him and he shakes his head.

“Will you tell me who did?” You already know he won’t but you like to hope sometimes.

His dark blue eyes widen, terrified of something he won’t speak about, and starts to pull away. You wrap your fingers around his wrists in response, holding him there.

“You don’t have to tell me right now if you don’t want to,” you say, willing him into understand. You want him to trust you. “Just- let me know when you want to talk about it, okay? I want to know eventually.”

This time he nods and you sigh. Being friends with Gamzee was a lot like taking care of a kid you didn’t remember adopting.

“Good. Are you ready to leave now?” You stand before letting him answer, the pain in your thighs lifting. 

You adjust your grasp on him so you end up holding his bloody hands, which are both sticky and slick at the same time. You’ll have to wash both his and your hands before you get in your car, you think and hope you have a water bottle or two in the trunk.

“Where are we goin’?” he asks as you help pull him to his feet.

“Home. My apartment,” you clarify with an eye role when his brow furrows.

“Oh,” he says as you start to lead him back to your car. “That’s good. I like it there; especially when you’re around.”

You grumble, “I own the place, moron. I’m always there.”

“Exactly,” he says and your cheeks feel very warm all of a sudden.

You look pointedly ahead and say, “I’m glad you’re happy, Gamzee. Just try not to bleed all over my seats or you’ll be the one washing the stains out tomorrow.”

He chuckles- his usual, low rumble compared to the creepy laughter from before- and squeezes your hand tighter. You squeeze back without a moment’s pause.

-o0o-

You check your trunk for supplies and find one water bottle and an old towel. You use the water first to wash Gamzee’s blood of your own hands and it comes off fast. You don’t remember where or when you got the towel- a sinking feeling in your chest tells you Equius probably left it in your car at some point- but you dry your hands as quickly as you can so you don’t have to think about it too much.

When you pour water on Gamzee’s hands, he lets out a weird hissing noise. You raise your eyes to see him wincing, face screwed up in pain.

“Does it sting?” you ask, trying to sound apologetic as you tighten the cap on the bottle shut.

“Like a bee,” he answers and curses as you start to clean the cuts. He doesn’t move away though and you don’t let go until his skin and nails have returned to a normal, healthy shade of pink. You decide to leave his cheek the way it is; if you try to wash the dry blood off, the cut will open up again and bleed worse than ever. 

“Here.” You shove the towel into his hands. “Hold onto that until we get to the apartment.”

“You don’t mind if I bleed on it none?” he asks as you open the passenger door for him.

You think of Equius and snort. “No. I told you before, I only care if you bleed on my car. So be careful.” You buckle him in so he won’t have to touch the seat belt. “Got it?”

“Yup.” He smiles at you placidly, but he’s still too pale for your liking. You’ll have to make eggs or something for him to eat when he gets out of the shower.

You shut his door and walk around to your side. Once you’ve put your own seatbelt on and turn on the car, you crank up the heat. Gamzee is usually cold to the touch, but you try to get his temperature as close to normal as possible while he’s around you.

“Bro?” Gamzee says hesitantly.

“Yeah?” You check the street before driving the car away from the curb.

“Thanks. For comin’ to get me and everything.”

You raise your eyebrows, gaze still on the road. “Did you think I would abandon you or something stupid like that?”

“No,” he mutters. “I just wanted to say thanks for watcha doin’ for me. Can’t a brother be thankful?”

“I guess.” You have no idea who- or what- Gamzee considers a ‘brother’. You heard him call a fire hydrant ‘brother’ once and you’ve had your doubts ever since.

“Besides,” you say, turning on your signal and making a right turn. “I promised you I would be there for you. I know other people have lied to you before, but I won’t. You were there for me, so now I’m going to be here to help you through whatever hell you’re living in. No exceptions.”

“Aw, thanks man.” He seems genuinely touched. “That really warms my heart.”

He sounds way too cheerful for a guy whose hands are cut up raw and bleeding.

“Don’t sound so happy, doofus!” you snap out loud. “If I’m here it means you are in deep shit. I mean, what the hell? It looks like you put your hands in the blender and put it on shred mode!”

He laughs quietly and your scowl deepens.

“What happened to you?” you demand, more seriously this time. “No, really, Gamzee. What happened? I want to know. I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

You can’t see his expression, but you hear the rustle of his clothes as he starts fidgeting. You say through gritted teeth, “You don’t have to tell me names if you’re not ready yet. I told you that in the park. Just tell me what happened as generally as possible.”

“I…broke some cups,” he tells you, but he’s hesitant. Your hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“Glass cups?” you ask to make sure. You don’t remember seeing glass in any of his cuts, thank god.

“Mhm.”

“And let me guess, you broke them accidentally?”

“Yeah.”

“These cups,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even. “Were they ‘accidentally’ thrown at you somehow, and you ‘accidentally’ broke them while defending yourself?”

“No!” he cries and you wince at the loud noise.“They weren’t thrown at me! They were just-”

“-thrown at your general surroundings?!” you finish sarcastically, but he’s nodding like you were actually freaking serious and you have to use all one hundred percent of your amazing self control to stop yourself from slamming your foot down on the breaks in frustration.

This wouldn’t be the first time Gamzee was a victim of abuse. If it was up to you, you would have pulled him out of that hell hole of a home he shared with his father and forced him to come and stay with you instead. He practically lived in your apartment anyway.

But Gamzee wasn’t a kid, for all he acted. He was an adult and you couldn’t really force him to abandon his dad no matter how bad the situation had become within the past couple of years. You have to let Gamzee make his own decisions about how he wanted to live his live. For now you could only help him with his injuries until he came to his senses.

You spent the rest of the car ride in silence. You fume silently the entire way while Gamzee stares out the window, memorized by the passing orange street lights. He doesn’t complain but you know his hands must be killing him.

By the time you get Gamzee into your apartment your anger has subdued to your normal amount of irritation with the world in general. You grab some of Gamzee’s spare clothes from your bedroom- he stays over enough that you have a whole drawer of clothes he’s left behind through the years- and shove him into the bathroom.

“They don’t look infected,” you tell him as you examine his hands again. They were still bleeding, but the cuts were shallow and the gushing from before had slowed considerably. “Just make sure you clean them good in the shower. Yell for me as soon as you’re done; I’ll come in and bandage them up until we can get you to a clinic or something.”

You take the time to breathe and you realize he’s just looking at your face, head tilted to the side as if you were some kind of interesting puzzle. You glower, annoyed because what if he had just spaced out while you were talking and now he’ll have no idea what to do-

You’re tugged forward suddenly and you find yourself tripping into Gamzee’s chest. You scramble for footing and put some space between the two of you, but then his bony arms come around you and you can’t even breathe much less worry about things like personal space.

“You’re a miracle, Karkat,” Gamzee says and he continues to hug you while your face is squished into his ribcage. “Have I ever told you that?”

There’s a thumping in your ears, and you think it must be Gamzee’s heartbeat because there’s no way your heart is beating that fast over a stupid compliment like that one.

“Yeah, yeah,” you manage to say, though it comes out muffled. You try not to let his words get to you too much- Gamzee calls jam on toast a miracle, for Christ’s sake- but no one’s ever said anything like that to you before and- and it’s sort of- nice. In a weird way.

You leave the bathroom, cheeks flaming an embarrassing shade of bright red, and make your way into the kitchen. Gamzee starts to sing as the shower runs, and you allow yourself a small smile, humming as you begin to cook up some scrambled eggs.

-o0o-

It takes the eggs, a bottle of cherry Faygo soda and an hour of SpongeBob before he finally tells you the whole story.

Gamzee’s dad had screwed up. Big time. Something had gone wrong, plans had been misunderstood, people had died. And now Gamzee’s dad had to face the consequences. Being the stable, rational adult Makara senior was, he decided to go to the bar and drink away his problems until he couldn’t remember his name- much less his mistakes- coming home to take out his anger and aggravation on his only son.

You hold him on your old couch as he sobs out the truth into your shirt. You run a hand through messy curls and rub his back, whispering words of comfort into his ear. You almost start crying too- you hate it, hate seeing him like this- but choke down the tears before he can see.

You pass out on the couch soon after he’s done talking. It doesn’t even matter that he’s half lying on top of you, head resting on your stomach, gangly body covering you from hip down. You just watch his mop of dark hair rise up and down with your every breath, and then its morning and you’re waking up in your bed, listening to the annoying sound of birds chirping outside your window.

You groan loudly and roll over, shoving a pillow on top of your head. Stupid birds, stupid headache, stupid Gamzee for making you stay up so late-

Your eyes flash open and you sit up abruptly. The pillow falls off the mattress and onto the floor, but you don’t care.

Gamzee. Last night. 

You try to think of the last thing you remember, but all you get is a weird rocking motion and the feeling of someone’s arms gently laying you into your bed. You hadn’t been worried at the time, too exhausted from lack of sleep and overwhelmed by the emotional stress of taking care of and comforting one Gamzee Makara, but now you realize that only Gamzee could have been the one to carry you to bed.

You smile slightly down at your sheets, enjoying the feelings of warmth and fondness spreading through you. Gamzee always took the time to take care of you, just as you did with him.

Speaking of your crazy friend, you think, where the hell is he?

There’s a sound of chortling laughter from behind your closed door, and you recognize it instantly. You shove off the covers and stumble to the door.

You’re welcomed with the disgustingly good smell of salty bacon and eggs. Your mouth waters and you quickly move towards the kitchen. You don’t take the time to wonder how you got into your pajamas because you honestly don’t want to think about that right now.

You pad into the kitchen and stop short, staring at the two people in front of you.

Kanaya notices you first. She looks up from whatever she’s doing to Gamzee’s hair- she has a brush in her right hand and a wad of Gamzee’s dark curls in her left- and smiles at you.

“Karkat,” she says, like you’re an unexpected but pleasant guest. “Good morning. How nice of you to join us.”

Gamzee’s head snaps up and he grins at you. “Karkat, bro, guess wha- ow!”

Kanaya had tugged his hair, forcing his head to jerk back. “I believe I told you before to not move. This will be quite painful otherwise.”

Gamzee mutters something too low for you to hear but you’re too busy staring at Kanaya to give it any thought.

“When the hell did you get here?” you snap at her. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

She makes a disappointed tsk-ing sound. “When have I ever required an invitation to visit an old friend?” she asks and goes back to brushing Gamzee’s hair out of his face.

“Breakfast’s on the counter,” Gamzee grunts. “Eggs and bacon and Faygo and stuff.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. Faygo with breakfast. Why aren’t you surprised?

“I’d make you some pancakes too but the sister wanted to pull my hair up all nice and fancy,” he says, mistaking the look of incredulity on your face.

You snort and go over to the counter where you find a plate piled with Gamzee’s delicious cooking. You grab the utensils lying next to the plate and take a bottle of water from the fridge before heading back to the table, already shoveling the stuff down your throat. God, how is it even legal for him to make such heavenly food?

You sit down across from Gamzee and peer at Kanaya while she attempts to tame your mutual friend’s wild hair. Occasionally Gamzee will try to smile at you, but that grin quickly becomes a grimace after a particularly strong tug of the brush from Kanaya. It’s almost funny to watch, actually, because nothing she ever does will make Gamzee’s hair any less of a knotty mess than it already is. That doesn’t stop her from trying though and you’ve eventually come to accept her weird fascination with Gamzee’s hair.

You swallow your food and take a long gulp of water. “So,” you say. “What are you doing here, Kanaya? Not that I don’t find your company completely enthralling or anything, but you have to be here for something other than to give Gamzee a haircut.”

“It is not a haircut,” she says with a frown. “I would gladly trim Gamzee’s hair to make it more presentable-”

“Hell, no!” Gamzee snarls at her and your eyes flicker to him. “I told you before, that is not a thing to be happening.”

“-but alas, he refuses,” Kanaya finishes with a pained sigh. “Besides, he hid the scissors the moment I crossed the threshold and I have not yet been so fortunate as to find it.”

“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” you say around mouthfuls of food. 

“Gamzee called Miss Peixes earlier this morning and enlightened her to his current situation,” she tells you matter-of-factly and you freeze, food half way to your mouth. 

“You what?” you say to Gamzee after a pause and he winces at your tone. “You told her everything?”

“He only described the condition of his wounds, not the situation surrounding them,” Kanaya interrupts before you can start freaking out. “That remains a privilege Gamzee reserves to you only. Please do not overreact, as I know you have a tendency of doing.” 

You shut your mouth with a snap, face burning. She was right, of course. You were overreacting as usual. But- you were used to the idea of Gamzee entrusting you and only you with his secrets. It made you feel weirdly proud- and secretly special- to think that out of your group of friends you were the one he chose to trust completely. And the thought of him sharing those personal moments with anyone else but you- it just- you couldn’t- 

It wasn’t imaginable, for you. You couldn’t even form an intellectual sentence about how wrong that picture was.

You glance back at Gamzee and he catches your eye. You try to send him a look that tells him how sorry you are for doubting him- but he shakes his head the tiniest bit, smiling slightly, and you know you’re forgiven for acting like an idiot. Again.

“Why’d you call Feferi?” you ask him. You know that Gamzee and Feferi- along with Eridan- were childhood friends, but you had already taken care of him. If he needed a ride back home- or anything, really- he could have just asked.

“Gamzee requires medical assistance,” Kanaya reminds you. “Feferi will assess the extent of his injuries, saving you the trip and money required to do the same at a professional clinic.”

“Oh.” You nod, understanding. “That’s- smart, actually. Good job.”

Gamzee honks happily, meaning he’s pleased with himself, and beams at you. You snort and go back to eating. You finally finish a few minutes later, too stuffed to ask Gamzee for seconds, and stand up.

“What does Feferi coming over have to do with you, Kanaya?” You pass them and head over to the dish washer.

“Feferi and I had previous plans to go on a shopping trip. Since your apartment is between our locations, I suggested that I would meet her here to minimize our traveling distance.” She pauses and squints at the clock above the doorway. “She should be arriving any moment. She told me she would try to arrive before 11:30.”

You drop the plate into the dish washer with a startled exclamation. You whirl around and say, “Wait, what? 11:30? What time is it now?”

Kanaya looks at you with exasperation and says, “It is 11:25, Karkat. Surely you can read a clock?”

You ignore the jab. You start counting on your fingers. If its 11:25 now, and you fell asleep sometime after four…. Holy shit.

“Karkat, what is it? The expression on your face is extremely odd.” Kanaya had stopped brushing Gamzee’s hair and both of them are staring at you, wearing similar looks of confusion.

You turn to them. “I slept seven hours last night,” you say with awe.

Kanaya just blinks, not understanding, but Gamzee- Gamzee knows exactly what you’re talking about and his answering grin is so wide his face nearly splits in two.

He holds out a hand to you. “Well if that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is,” he says and you laugh before clasping his outstretched hand. You squeeze his hand and the pair of you smile at each other like fools. You can’t remember the last time you slept for that long. It feels like you’ve just won a trophy or something.

The doorbell rings and Kanaya hums. “That would be Feferi. Karkat, please answer the door.”

You glare at her but she’s pinning back Gamzee’s hair with bobby pins- where did she get those?!- and she’s not paying attention to you anymore.

With an annoyed huff you let go of Gamzee’s hand and make your way across the apartment.

“Karkat!” Feferi squeals when you open the door and throws her arms around you.

“Hey, Feferi,” you say, reluctantly letting her hug you. You’re not that big on hugging, except when it’s with Gamzee.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” She lets go of you but keeps a firm hold on your hands, linking them with hers and swinging them back and forth between the two of you. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Um. Yeah, same.” You try to think of the last time the group got together. It hadn’t been that long ago, right? You swear you saw Vriska and Aradia last week- but not together, god, no, because everyone knows not to hang out with Vriska and Aradia at the same time unless you have a death wish-

But then Feferi’s walking into the apartment like she owns the place, and she’s pulling you along, and you just follow because what else can you do? You sigh tiredly and trudge after her. 

“Gamzee!” Feferi says in that same shrieking tone when she enters the kitchen. She lets go of your hand and goes to him. 

Gamzee looks up at the sound of her voice and his face lights up at the sight of his childhood friend. Kanaya steps back as Feferi leans down and wraps her arms around Gamzee’s neck, giving him a much gentler hug than the one she gave you.

She pulls back, hands on his shoulders, and stares into his eyes as if searching for something. He stares back but doesn’t say anything. Gamzee, Feferi and Eridan had a strange way of communicating without words; they could tell what the other two were thinking or feeling before putting voice to it. The trio had been able to do it for as long as you could remember, and it wasn’t like it was anything bad- you could do it with Gamzee, and Kanaya on occasion, too- but it gave you a weird feeling whenever they did it. Like you were invading on something private. 

You shift uncomfortably as the seconds tick away and Kanaya places a comforting hand on your shoulder to make you stop. You look at her sharply, a scowl already in place, but she just shakes her head at you. You try to breathe out slowly, letting the tension ease out of your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Feferi asks softly- finally- and Gamzee shrugs.

“Better than I was before,” he admitted. “Karkat helped me.”

Feferi looks over her shoulder and gives you a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she says sincerely.

You didn’t do it for her- you did it for Gamzee because Gamzee needed you, and you would always be there for him- but you nod anyway. Feferi turns back to Gamzee and fondly brushes a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re okay. Now, let me see your cheek.”

She pulls up a chair next to Gamzee and you sit across from them while Kanaya leaves to silently retrieve your first aid kit. You feel strangely nervous as Feferi examines the small cut. What if she says you bandaged his hands wrong or if you should’ve taken him to the hospital right away for stitches? 

“It looks fine,” she says after a moment and you sag, relieved. “You’re right in thinking that it’s not infected. I would just put a band aid on it until it fully heals and it should be good. Oh- thank you, Kanaya,” she says when Kanaya hands her the first aid kit.

“It was no trouble,” Kanaya assures her and takes a seat next to you.

Feferi looks at Gamzee’s hands next. She unwraps the bandages you so wound carefully last night and examines his palms, which received the most damage. 

“You did well, Karkat,” she says after a pregnant pause. 

“I did it alright and everything?” you ask to make sure. 

“Yes. These cuts are not infected either; there is no glass in them that I can see.” She runs her fingers over Gamzee’s pale hands, hovering over some of the gashes. “They really are very clean. And these bandages are perfect- the same ones I would use.”

You can feel all of your nervousness and pent-up worry disappearing as she continues to speak. You did okay. You didn’t screw up. Gamzee will be fine.

“He doesn’t need to go to the hospital for stitches?” you ask her and she goes still. Gamzee, who has barely spoken this entire time, suddenly looks very pale beside her.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Feferi says slowly, hesitantly. “He doesn’t need to go to the hospital. You made the right choice, bringing him here.” She casts a glance at Gamzee before saying, quietly, “It’s not a good idea for Gamzee to be out in public right now; Mr. Makara will be looking for him. He usually does, after something like this happens. If you had brought Gamzee to the hospital, his father would have already found him for sure.”

You frown. You hadn’t thought of that. 

Feferi leans across the table and squeezes your linked hands. “You did perfectly, Karkat. With everything. I couldn’t have handled this ny better than you did.”

“And you-” She pats the back of Gamzee’s hands lightly. “-are going to be just fine. And I see someone’s been working on your hair,” she says in a teasing tone. Gamzee’s face colors instantly and he smiles sheepishly at her.

“I would have put it in a ponytail, though,” Feferi continues. She runs her fingers through his free hair at the base of his neck. “It’s getting kinda long, don’t you think?”

“That is what I told him, but he wouldn’t hear of it,” Kanaya says wryly. “He refuses to let me trim it.”

Feferi pouts. “But you would look so good!” she whines. “And you’ve needed a haircut for a while now!”

“I look good as I am,” Gamzee mumbles to his feet. “I don’t think I need to change none.”

“Yeah, I agree. He looks fine the way he is,” you interrupt. “So what if his hair is a little messy?” 

The girls both roll their eyes simultaneously at you. And its only then you realize that you- with your own knotty bangs and puffs of hair sticking up in all the wrong angles- really shouldn’t be talking about messy hair.

“Messy is a bit of an understatement,” Kanaya says and you like to think she’s only referring to Gamzee. “I would just tidy it up a bit.” She reaches over to touch Gamzee’s hair, but he ducks away from her hand and stands up.

“I don’t want it tidied up!” he says loudly. He’s starting to scowl and your gut tightens instinctively.

Feferi places a soothing hand on his arm. “Shhh, Gamzee. Relax, we’re just teasing you. Sit down so I can wrap your hands up again.” She tugs on his sleeve and he reluctantly sits down.

Everything goes smoothly after that. Feferi and Kanaya chatter uselessly about where to go shopping while Feferi ties Gamzee’s hands back up with clean bandages. You just watch, hunched over in your seat as you rest your folded arms on the table. Gamzee’s silent the entire time but he doesn’t seem upset anymore, which is good.

Feferi and Kanaya leave sometime later, deciding to go out for lunch instead of intruding at your place any longer. They take Feferi’s car since Kanaya took the bus to your apartment, and they hug both of you before they leave. Gamzee waves as they pull out of the driveway and you stand behind him, arms crossed over your chest.

His lanky arm drops as their car disappears from view and you give him a once over.

“You okay?” you repeat Feferi from before.

“Better,” he parrots back. He looks over at you and gives you a small, but reassuring, smile. “Better, because of you. Don’t know what I’d do without you, brother of mine.”

He opens his arms and you don’t hesitate to throw your arms around his middle, squeezing him as hard as you can. He hugs you back and presses his cheek into your hair. You close your eyes and you try to focus on the feel of him- his arms around you, his heartbeat in your ear, his musky smell. 

A Gamzee hug was the only type of hug that felt completely natural to you. Hugging anyone else made you feel awkward and uncomfortable. The two of you both rock back and forth on your feet for a while and you feel safe. Content, even.

You separate eventually and Gamzee asks if you want to watch some movies. You agree immediately and he goes off to the kitchen again to find some popcorn. You keep an eye on him as you go to your DVD collection.

You’ll have to remind him later to take the bobby pins out of his hair. No matter what Kanaya and Feferi said, he looks freaking ridiculous with his curls pulled up like that.


End file.
